


Only For You

by dearly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearly/pseuds/dearly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who are you?” “I’m the lucky girl who pulled you out of the rubbish.” The first time Molly saved Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only For You

**Author's Note:**

> I made a post on tumblr about a Daredevil inspired Sherlolly fic and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here you go. It’s almost my birthday so please allow me a bit of self-indulgence. ;)
> 
> Title comes from the Heartless Bastards’ song. 
> 
> And I will open my heart / And I will only for you.

“Dr. Hooper!” Isaac’s muffled voice sounded from behind the door where he pounded forcefully. “Come quick. There’s something out back you need to see!”

Molly groaned and flipped off the television. _Not tonight._ Isaac Whitney was a good kid and she enjoyed watching him on occasion when his mother needed help, but tonight was her first night off in six days. All she wanted was a low-key night of mindless telly, a big glass of red wine, and no one else’s problems to deal with. For a moment she considered pretending not to be home, but that idea quickly fizzled when she remembered saying hello to Isaac upon returning home from work. He knew she was home. Besides, he was too shy to bother her unless something was wrong.

“Please!” The urgency in her young neighbor’s voice forced her off the couch at last. Something _was_ wrong.

She threw open the door to find the young boy nearly trembling with excitement. His eyes were wide open with fear yet not panicked enough for it to be something wrong with him or his mum. “What is it, Isaac?”

“Follow me.” He took off down the stairs without waiting for her to follow, knowing that she would. It wasn’t the first time the boy had come to her for help. Once he’d found a baby bird that had gotten separated from its mother. Naturally he came to Molly, a doctor, for help and though her medical school training had not extended to animals, they rescued it in a shoebox. After brief Internet research, they managed to tend to it and keep it alive until a few days later they watched as it flew off her balcony and join with a flock of other birds in the dusky London twilight.

She didn’t have the energy to play veterinarian tonight, but the concern on the boy’s face told her it was something a bit more than a bird. With a sigh she shoved on her trainers and hurried out the door following the sound of Isaac’s footsteps down the stairs and outside to the back of their building.

“There,” he said when she caught up to him, pointing to the rubbish bins. “Something’s in there.”

Gingerly she approached the bin and motioned for Isaac to stay back. Perhaps a cat had gotten trapped or…

A groan sounded from beneath the lid.

…or a _man_.

Cursing under her breath, she quickly lifted the heavy lid. The darkness prevented her from seeing anything very clearly, but obviously the man was in some sort of distress.

She fished her phone out of her pocket and used the light from the screen as a makeshift torch. Holding her breath, she held it over the bin and saw a dark figure lying on top of the heap. His clothes were torn in several places revealing several open wounds on his pale skin. She was sure she hadn’t seen him before, but there was something strangely familiar about him.

_Was it--no it couldn’t be…or could it?_

She froze and looked back at Isaac.

“Should we call for help, Dr. Hooper?”

“No,” she replied quickly, _too quickly_ , “I-I mean, I don’t think that would be wise in this case.”

Running a nervous hand through her hair, she debated her next move. They were alone in the alleyway and she was positive that no one would have been able to see them.

There was only one thing to do.

“Isaac, would you help me carry him up to my flat? I think the two of us can manage if we take it slow.”

He nodded without hesitation. _Good lad_. After a quick assessment that assured her there were no major broken bones, the two managed to prop the man up and lift him out of the bin. Then as gently as they could each of them threw one of his arms around their shoulders and half-carried, half-dragged him up the stairs. It was an arduous task as the man was much taller than the pair and most likely weighed more than the two of them combined. After several stops to rest and make sure that no one was watching, they finally made it to her flat and laid him on her couch where his long legs barely fit.

She sent Isaac home with promises to keep him updated on the man’s condition and found herself alone with a battered and bruised, not to mention unconscious, stranger bleeding on her couch.

_A quiet night off indeed._

She fetched her first-aid kit and began cleaning his wounds as best she could.

In the light of her flat, she was able to get a better look at the stranger. He was obviously in good shape. The tight-fitting black clothing did little to hide the muscles on his lean frame. She removed the knit cap from his head revealing a mop of curly dark hair that was caked in blood. He was young, probably close to her in age and was rather attractive in an unusual sort of way.

As she leaned in closer to get a better look, his eyes flashed open. He turned his head slowly and caught her eye. He had to be alarmed to wake up in a strange flat, yet he only looked at her with slight suspicion. 

“Where am I?” He spoke softly, in between labored breaths.

“My flat,” she replied dryly.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the lucky girl who pulled you out of the rubbish. Who are you?”

He hesitated. “Not important.”

“No, I suppose I should just feel okay about a complete stranger bleeding onto my couch without any sort of hint about who he may be.”

He looked down at his arms and legs as if suddenly becoming aware that they belonged to his own body and started to sit up. A grimace of pain briefly crossed his face before he could fight it back. “I’ll go.” 

“Not so fast,” she gently pushed his shoulders back, forcing him to stay where he was. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere right now. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve got at least three fairly deep gashes on your abdomen, chest, and shoulder. I’ve managed to stop the bleeding, but you’re probably going to need stitches. You’ve got a black eye which is swelling up pretty badly and I’m thinking whatever caused it might have given you a concussion as well. Judging from how you’re breathing, I’d say you’ve got a couple of broken ribs and perhaps a partially collapsed lung. And that’s only after a quick assessment. Whoever did this to you made a pretty thorough job of it.”

The man laid his head back on the cushion looking utterly exhausted. “What are you some kind of doctor?”

“Yes, in fact, I am. Usually just for dead people, though if I would’ve waited any longer, I might have had you on the slab in my morgue.” The words were spoken light-heartedly and the man seemed to share in her sense of humor as he scoffed under his breath with a small pained smile.

“Which hospital?” he asked, turning his attention back to her. She thought it odd that a man in his condition was more curious about her career rather than the havoc wrecked upon his body.

“Bart’s, isn’t it,” he answered when she didn’t respond.

“How did you--”

“Well, it’s close by your flat for one thing, plus they’re known for their pathology department, and also there’s letter sitting on top of the table addressed to a Ms. Molly Hooper, you I’m assuming, from said hospital.”

The man didn’t miss much, even with a concussion. Molly couldn’t help but be impressed.

“I’m in my last year of my residency. Technically, I’m a doctor, but I’m still in training.”

“So I’m the perfect lab rat for you to test your skills on,” he said, smirking which she returned.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve worked on a live person before,” she said before pausing to check beneath the bandage to make sure the bleeding had stopped on the worst gash to his stomach. “Now that you know some things about me, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? Like for instance why you’re dressed like some sort of cat burglar?”

His jaw clenched and a darkness flashed in his eyes. “It’s probably best that you know as little about me as possible.”

She squinted at him, trying for figure out what his name would be. The truth was he didn’t look quite like anyone she’d ever seen before.

“Why didn’t you call for help?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Most people would.”

“I thought about it, but…well, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve heard stories about some sort of vigilante who’s been going around London stopping criminals that the police haven’t been able to. I’ve seen some of the victims in the morgue up close. I’ve seen what kind of torture these people have been put through. Some of them are just kids,” she stopped speaking until she felt her rage subside. “If this person is trying to stop these bad guys then I support him, but I’ve heard some bad things too. Some of the police think he’s a nuisance, perhaps even committing some of these crimes himself.”

The man looked at her pointedly. “What do you think? Is he some sort of hero?”

“Let’s cut the crap, shall we? Look, I don’t know what kind of man you are, but I know that you are doing is for the greater good. From the looks of it, it seems you have some demons of your own to deal with,” she ran a finger over the faint marks on his arm she’d spotted earlier. _Needle marks_. She’d seen those before--on people who hadn’t survived their addictions.

He pulled his arm away from her touch.

“I’m not here to judge you. I just think there’s a way to do some good in this city without hiding in the shadows. Help the police. Be an ally, not an enemy. You’re both trying to solve the same problems.”

“The police are idiots.”

“Well then help them. They obviously could use your help.”

“I’m not a hero, Dr. Hooper--“

“Molly.”

“-- _Molly_. The truth is I get bored easily. My mind needs a challenge, something to focus on. I like solving things and this is just a way for me to keep myself busy.”

Molly shook her head. “You could have just as easily become a criminal yourself then if that were the case. I think there is goodness in you and what you’re trying to achieve, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

His face softened ever so slightly as he studied her face. She felt a warmth flood through her body under the gaze of his blue-green eyes and had to turn away, feeling confused by the sudden burst of emotion. She turned her attention on removing the latex gloves that felt stifling on her now sweaty palms.

Without warning, his hand reached out to cover hers. “Thank you, Molly. You might have just saved my life. I owe you.”

“It was nothing.”

“I mean it.”

Unsure of how to respond, she simply nodded and made no motion to stop him when he stood to leave.

It took him a moment to steady himself on two feet. No doubt the pain he was feeling was excruciating considering his injuries, but he managed to hide it well. In a few strides he crossed her flat and unlatched her window saying it would be a safer way to make his escape in case anyone was watching.

“Wait,” she called once he had climbed onto the fire escape.

“Promise me one thing,” she reached a hand through the open window where he stood and lightly touched the scars on his forearm. “Whatever you have to do stop, please do. I don’t want to see you in my morgue. This city needs you.”

In spite of his condition, he smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry. I had been thinking about giving it up anyway. It was getting dull. I think I’ve found a new way to fill my time.”

With that, he disappeared down the steps and into the darkness.

She fastened the window and looked around her empty flat confounded by what had just happened. If it weren’t for the faint mark of blood on the windowsill, there wouldn’t have been any other sign to let her know it wasn’t just a crazy dream.

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks were a blur of busyness at the hospital. The flu had made it way around the building leaving Molly with extra shifts to juggle and a pile of paperwork to catch up on. There was no time to think about her mysterious visitor and what had happened to him.

One morning she arrived early to work, determined to get a handle on her overdue lab reports. Clutching a large stack to her chest, she made her way to the lab. As she struggled with the the door with her arms full, a hand reached from behind her to assist her.

“Allow me,” a familiar deep voice spoke.

She whirled around in surprise and saw him.

He looked different, wearing a long grey coat that was unbuttoned and revealed an expensive looking suit underneath. The marks on his face had healed, though there were still hints of a bruise around his eye. The blood had been washed out of his hair and the dark curls now shown glossy under the light of the hallway.  He was striking, beautiful even, in his healthy state.

“Sherlock Holmes, I don’t believe we’ve met.” The sparkle in his eye said otherwise.

“But…”

“Your boss, Mike Stamford, owes me a favor and is giving me use of the labs for something I’m working on.”

“Oh?”

“It's a case for the police, a double murder. I was wondering if you might let me into the morgue to see the bodies,” he paused to smile at her. “Someone once told me not to show up in their morgue, but I don’t think that extended to me being alive in it.”

“No, I don’t suppose it did,” she couldn’t help but grin at their inside joke. A sense of relief washed over her knowing that he was safe and had taken her advice to heart.

When the hallway was clear, he lowered his head and spoke gently into her ear, “I can’t promise I won’t get into any more scrapes though.”

“Well then, you know where to find me and my first-aid kit. Just please, no more almost dying on my couch, especially on my nights off.”

“Deal.”

Something told her that she would be seeing much more of this Sherlock Holmes in the future and the fluttering in her heart revealed that she didn’t quite mind the prospect.

**Author's Note:**

> My HC for this story was that Isaac gets with the wrong crowd a few years after he moves to a different flat. Sherlock finds him in the drug den and plans to get him out since Isaac helped to save him once. But John shows up and takes them both to Molly. She’s pissed at both of them for disappointing her and when Isaac sees her anger taken out on Sherlock he resolves never to do drugs again. She becomes his mentor and he goes on to become a doctor one day with Sherlock and Molly attending his graduation.
> 
> And of course Sherlock continues using Molly's flat as a bolthole when he gets into trouble, and sometimes when he just wants to spend time with her. ;)


End file.
